“Um, I know you’re back there.” Ankle-Bird’s voice floated back to Massie. “I can smell your granny perfume.”
“Ex-hu-use me?” Massie’s fear tingles turned to anger. Her grip tightened protectively around Bean, who let out a delicate sneeze.
“It took Landon two bottles of puppy shampoo just to get that smell out of Bark’s fur last night,” Ankle-Bird said coolly.
“At least I don’t smell like liver,” Massie snapped, wishing she’d had more time to come up with something better.
Ankle-Bird stopped walking and whip-turned around. Instinctively, Massie took a step back, then instantly regretted it. High school girls were like dogs: They could smell fear.
Kneeling to the pavement, Ankle-Bird opened her palm, revealing a small red liver treat. Bark lapped it up happily, and Bean squirmed in Massie’s arms, desperate for her crush and a snack.
Puh-lease. No wonder Bark loved Ankle-Bird so much. Massie could have been bribing the puppy all this time too. Except she hadn’t thought of that.
“Of course, torturing Bark’s poor nose is nothing compared to what you did to his foot.” Ankle-Bird swooped down and lifted Bark from the pavement, tucking him under her arm.
“Ehmagawd. That was an accident!” Massie could feel her cheeks starting to flush the same color as her tunic.
“Yeah?” Ankle-Bird blinked. “And what about those ugly booties? Were those an accident too?”
Those were LAYNE’S FAULT! Massie wanted to scream. Not that she had to explain herself to Ankle-Bird.
Massie’s iPhone buzzed in her back pocket. Dropping Bean to the pavement, she reached for her cell. Bean scampered over to Bark and started tongue-kissing the side of his face. Puppy love was so much simpler than people love.
Claire: Hey. Think we could talk sometime this—
Massie shoved the phone back in her pocket without even finishing it. Claire would understand. She was apparently into ditching her friends for high school girls now.
“I’m just saying,” Ankle-Bird continued with a self-righteous hair toss. “You did some serious damage. You’re lucky those booties didn’t make his fracture worse.”
Guilt gripped Massie’s stomach and squeezed it like Kendra’s SuperJuicer5000. The fall breeze that fluttered through the trees and grass seemed to be getting colder by the second, nipping at Massie’s clammy skin.
When the guilt settled, anger took its place. Who did this girl think she was? Just because she had an inked bird on her leg didn’t make her a pet expert. It was like saying Dylan was qualified to be a judge on Top Chef just because she had the number for Happy Dragon takeout perma-scribbled on her palm.
“Excuse me, but are you Secret Service?” Massie sucked in a deep breath and planted her hands on her hips.
“What?” Ankle-Bird tilted her head slightly to the side, looking confused. “No.”
“Then why are you on Obama’s tail 24/7?”
Ankle-Bird chuckled, her eyes softening from icy blue to a warm sapphire.
Massie’s Chanel No. 19 seared at her pressure points. Was Ankle-Bird making fun of her?
“Cute,” Ankle-Bird smiled, scratching Bark’s back with the tip of her boot. “Actually, I’m his physical therapist.”
His what? Ankle-Bird fished two more liver treats from a pouch attached to her belt. Massie resisted the urge to snatch Bean’s treat from Ankle-Bird’s hand and feed it to her puppy herself. The last thing she needed was to lose Bean to Ankle-Bird too.
“My parents are Bark’s vets, so when he hurt his paw I offered to do his therapy,” she explained. “I’m going to NYU next fall to major in pet PT.” She tucked a dark, shimmering wave behind her ear. “I’m Mary, by the way.”
“Massie.” Massie’s lower lip dropped slightly, feeling chapped.
“I know,” Mary said simply.
Suddenly, the last two weeks seemed a little clearer, like Massie’s eyes had been dilated and the world around her was starting to come back into focus. But she refused to let hope inch its way to her heart. Just because Ankle-Bird was a professional didn’t mean she didn’t still have a major OWCH factor. Think of all the celebs who’d crushed on their employees: Britney and her agent, Jude and his nanny, Madonna and her personal trainer, Madonna and her other personal trainer… and now Landon and his puppy PT?
“Guess Landon got two for one,” she said, digging her toe into the road. “A physical therapist and a crush.” She kept her eyes on the pavement, not wanting to see the truth in Ankle-Bird’s pore-free face.
“Crush?” Ankle-Bird snorted, her hammered-gold chandelier earrings clinking in amusement. “No way.”
Massie’s head snapped up. She searched the older girl’s eyes for signs that she was lying. But all she saw was a flawless liquid-liner job.
“Landon’s adorable and all, but I’m not really into younger guys.” Ankle-Bird grinned. “My boyfriend’s a freshman at Columbia.”
“Seriously?” Massie’s voice shook with relief, shame, and embarrassment. Tears burned the corners of her eyes, threatening to ruin her eye makeup and her reputation. Why hadn’t she kept her sunglasses on? And why hadn’t she gone with waterproof mascara, today of all days?
“Seriously. You okay?” Mary stepped toward Massie and tilted her head slightly, in a way that said, You can tell me everything. I’m leaving for college in the fall, and I’ll take your shameful secrets with me.
Massie shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to bury her face in Mary’s canary yellow shoulder and sob until her insides were parched. She pursed her lips together, as if she could lock all her crush insecurities inside and keep them there.
“C’mere.” Mary slid her arm around Massie’s trembling shoulder, guiding her to the curb. “What’s going on?” she asked, sitting down on the side of the road and patting the cement next to her. Massie sank down next to her as Bark and Bean curled up between the girls.
Maybe it was the concern in Mary’s older, wiser eyes. Or maybe it was the rough warmth of Bean’s tiny tongue. But suddenly, Massie couldn’t hold it in any longer. Staring down at the ground, she spilled like Perez Hilton. She told Mary everything: about how she’d gotten ditched by every real crush she’d ever had. About how she was about to lose Landon too. About how the upgrade had been her idea in the first place, and now all her friends were moving full-speed ahead with older friends or crushes, while her relationship had stalled out.
When she was done, Mary nodded in a been-there sort of way. “Sounds like you’ve had a lot of crushes, but they just weren’t right for you.”
“Until Landon.” Massie shuddered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Yeah. He’s pretty great,” Mary smiled, nudging Massie’s knee with hers. “Sounds like he’s a way better match.”
Massie nodded miserably, feeling a fresh wave of tears spring to her eyes as she thought of his Pradas.
“Plus, sounds like you actually like Landon for Landon,” Mary said. “I mean, did you really like those other guys, or did you just like the idea of having a crush?”
Massie blinked, clicking through her crush history. There was Derrington, with his seasonally inappropriate wardrobe choices and embarrassing booty shake. Then there was Dempsey, who couldn’t talk about anything other than Africa, the environment, and helping other people. Plus, how many soccer games had Massie sat through, her butt frozen to the bleachers, when she’d rather have been at the mall with her friends?
Was Mary more relationship-savvy than Oprah?
“The perfect guy for you isn’t the one who makes you want to pretend to be someone you’re not,” Mary said wisely, scratching behind Bark’s ears. “The perfect guy makes you want to be exactly who you are.”
Massie nodded slowly, soaking up Mary’s wisdom like it was La Mer moisturizer. Maybe her exes hadn’t been right for her. Maybe they’d just been there to show her what she really wanted in a crush: style, an adorable puppy, and an aversion to shorts in the winter. And she�
�d found all those things in Landon Crane.
“Thanks,” she said hurriedly, leaping off the curb. “I gotta go find something.” Tucking Bean underneath her arm like a football, she fixed her gaze on Landon’s mailbox and speed-headed toward her crush.
“What?” Mary called after her.
Massie closed her eyes, feeling the crisp breeze slip past her love-flushed cheeks. “Myself!”
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK
OUTSIDE THE GOURMET AU LAIT
Sunday, November 16th
1:32 P.M.
Claire sat on the wooden bench outside the Gourmet Au Lait, wedged between Layne and Cam. She popped the plastic top off her red to-go cup and blew on the steam wafting from her hot chocolate with jumbo marshmallows. The sugary sweetness of her drink mixed with Cam’s woodsy cologne and the brisk fall air was making her feel light-headed in the best possible way. Spending the afternoon with Layne and Cam was almost fun enough to make her forget that Massie hadn’t responded to any of her texts. Not even the ones marked URGENT X 10.
“Wait. Wait,” Cam said over a mouthful of hazelnut whipped cream, sending tiny flecks of vanilla-colored fluff into a huddle of passing holiday shoppers in Santa hats. The 24-karat sparkle in his eyes was infectious, and Claire couldn’t help smiling. “Pink feathers and glitter?”
“Yup,” Layne nodded, looking more proud of herself than the time she’d eaten an entire bag of horseradish-flavored jellybeans dipped in hot sauce without even touching her Coke Zero. “Booties only a mother could love.” Her eyes were bright with pride and thick turquoise liner.
“Poor Bark,” Claire giggled, scooting a little closer to Cam.
“For real,” Cam snorted, taking a long sip of his drink. When he reemerged, a tiny dab of whipped cream was perched on the end of his nose. Claire had the sudden urge to lean over and lip-kiss the sugary fluff away. Cara, of Ninth-Grade Doug and Cara, probably would have. But Claire just wrapped her hands around her cup to warm them, hoping her friends would think it was the hot drink that was making her cheeks flush. Being this close to her crush confirmed what she already knew: Cam was the ultimate upgrade, even if he was in her same grade.
“After this, wanna hit Godiva for free samples?” A mischievous glint surfaced in Layne’s eye. “This week is cherry liqueur–dipped graham crackers.”
Cam made a gagging sound. Then he leaned forward and pitched his empty hot chocolate cup into the painted black wire trash can next to Layne.
“Bet you guys I eat a whole box before free sample girl gives me the evil eye.”
“Kidely bake your selections add pay,” Claire droned in a perfect imitation of the salesgirl’s nasal tone. She laughed, reaching under the bench for her yellow Matt & Nat bowler bag. “You’re on,” she said, sneaking a peek at her rhinestone-encrusted Motorola.
O NEW MSGS.
The words on the screen made Claire’s shoulders slump. “But we have to make a quick stop first,” she said, patting the bag in her lap. The jingling sound inside made her think of charm bracelets, which made her think of Massie, which made her slump even lower in her seat.
“Where?” Cam stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hunter green windbreaker, looking curious.
Claire shrugged, trying to look mysterious.
Layne raised her left eyebrow. It hovered over her turquoise liner like a furry inchworm.
“I’m intrigued, Lyons.” She brought her cardboard cup to her lips and tilted her head back to chug the last few sips. The plastic top popped off, sending steaming hot chocolate sloshing over her waffled gray long-underwear top.
Claire and Cam lunged off the bench to avoid getting hit.
“Owwwwww.” Layne wiped her face with the hem of her shirt, then dabbed gingerly at her scorched red tongue. “Buuuuuuurn.”
Laughing, Claire stumbled into Cam’s windbreaker, wishing she could curl up against it and stay there forever. Or at least until Massie was speaking to her again.
Claire cringed. “C’mon. Let’s go,” she said, slinging her bowler bag over her shoulder. She ducked around a creaking silver ladder that was leaned against the coffee bar window, where a woman was stringing up a fresh green garland tied with red ribbon. Cam and Layne followed.
“Gimme a hint,” Cam whispered in her ear, sending love shivers up and down her spine. But she held strong.
“You’ll seeee,” she teased.
“Great. Now I can’t even taste the samples.” Layne wiggled her tongue pitifully, like Bean did when she wanted an extra treat.
Claire led her friends down the brick-lined sidewalk toward the square at the end of Main Street, weaving between kids on their bikes and shopkeepers frosting their windows with fake snow. Her bowler bag felt heavy, but not as heavy as her heart did when she thought about her empty inbox. She wished Massie would text her an insult, at least. Anything was better than nothing at all.
Finally, Claire spotted their destination: the wishing fountain in the main square at the center of Westchester’s bustling downtown. Surrounded by colorful, manicured flower beds, the churning stone fountain spewed frothy aqua water tinted copper by the layer of pennies that rested at the bottom.
Sometimes when Claire was downtown and found a few extra cents in the back pocket of her cords, she’d stop by the fountain to wish for little things: that she and Cam would magically be on Gchat at the same time, that Todd would quit leaving the milk carton in the fridge with nothing in it but little-brother backwash, that she’d have a good bangs day at least once that week. Today, she had way more important things to wish for. Which was why she’d come prepared.
“We’re here,” she announced, scoping out the fountain area for an acceptable piece of real estate. A few families had parked strollers nearby, and a skater with a Travis Barker Mohawk was doing lazy circles around the perimeter of the flower beds. Claire staked out a spot between an elderly couple and three little kids tossing Cheerios into the fountain when their mom wasn’t looking.
“What’s the plan?” Layne looked back and forth between Claire and the fountain.
“We’re making wishes for the rest of the school year,” Claire announced. So far, nothing else she’d tried to keep the PC together, happy, and drama-free had worked. So she’d have to rely on a little magic.
“Cool,” Cam said supportively. He patted down his windbreaker. “Except I don’t have any—”
“Not a problem.” Claire crouched on the brick square and unzipped her sagging bowler bag. Inside were three plastic baggies of pennies, one for each of them. She tossed one to Cam and one to Layne, then took the last for herself.
“Ready?” she asked solemnly, pinching her first penny between her thumb and index finger. It was slightly sticky, since the only baggies she could find at home had had gummies in them at one point. “Go.” She flicked the penny into the fountain and closed her eyes as it skipped across the water.
I wish my friends would stop wanting to grow up so fast.
Plink. A light breeze swept through the square, and Claire shuddered, hoping that was some sort of sign from the universe. She didn’t mind the idea of ninth graders as much anymore, especially after meeting Layne’s friends. But what was so wrong with being happy in eighth too?
PUH-LUUUUUUUUUNK!
A splash of fountain water splattered Claire’s kelly green angora hoodie, and her eyes snapped open.
“I WISH MY BOOTIE CAM PATENT GOES THROUGH AND I’M A BILLIONAIRE BEFORE FOURTEEN,” bellowed Layne. Her baggie was completely empty.
“Layne!” Claire giggle-accused. “There were like fifty pennies in there!”
Layne shrugged. “But I really, REALLY want that one to come true.”
“Too bad,” Cam said slyly, flicking one of his pennies over the top of the fountain spray like he was going for the extra point in paper football. “If you say ’em out loud, they definitely don’t come true.”
Claire nodded in agreement.
“Wrong!” Layne lunged for Claire’s baggie, diggi
ng out a handful. “I WISH CLAIRE AND CAM WOULD THINK I’M HILAAAAAARIOUS.” She flung the pennies toward the fountain, and all but one rained into the water. The last one bounced off the curved edge of the fountain and onto the tan orthopedic shoe of the old lady next to Claire.
“LAYNE!” Claire and Cam burst out laughing. “QUIT IT!” Claire apology-shrugged at the old lady, who gripped her husband’s hand and shuffled to the other side of the fountain.
“See?” Layne spread her arms open wide. “You laughed.”
Claire shook her head, closing her eyes again. I wish Cam and Layne and I will never stop being friends. Ever. In the midst of all the PC drama, Cam and Layne were her tried-and-trues, the friend equivalents of Massie’s go-to Citizen boot-cuts and black BCBG cami.
Claire opened her left eye, sneaking a peek at Cam. He was winding up for another wish. She closed her eye again. I wish Cam and I are wishing the same things.
Plink.
“I WISH I GET THE LEAD IN THE SPRING MUSICAL AND GET DISCOVERED BY AN INDIE AGENT AND GET FAMOUS AND START MY OWN LINE OF CUSTOM-DECORATED SNEAKERS,” Layne yelled.
“You don’t even have any pennies left,” Claire murmured out of the corner of her mouth. Then another wish popped into her mind.
I wish Massie would stop being mad at me for liking my crush so much and wanting other friends.
Plink.
A lump rose in Claire’s throat. It felt like she was trying to swallow a jumbo marshmallow but couldn’t. Immediately, tears stung her eyes, and she opened them, feeling the weight of her social dilemma drag her down like a million bags of pennies. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t she just pick her own friends and her own crush, and be happy?
Layne sidled over to Claire, giving her a silent side-hug. It was like she understood without Claire having to say a word.
“Thanks,” Claire sniffed, rapid-blinking her tears away before Cam saw them. But he was still dutifully flicking his pennies into the water, his eyes screwed shut. Claire felt a fresh rush of love for her crush.
These Boots Are Made for Stalking Page 15
